In Fire I Trust
by T3t
Summary: During Fool Moon, Marcone made Harry an offer.  A slip of the tongue forces Harry to accept, but as far as Harry's mistakes go, this one isn't too bad.
1. Sound of Defeat

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Dresden Files.

**A/N: **I've had this idea in my head for nigh on nine months, and I finally decided to write it. Divergence is the first time Marcone offers Harry a job in Fool Moon. Familiarity with the Dresden Files is highly advised for reading this, the story will eventually contain spoilers for pretty much every book and it assumes working knowledge of canon.

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><p><em>Marcone was on the up and up. He was offering me a dream job, with virtually no commitment, and as much money as I could want. There was even a clause that specified that I would not be asked or expected to perform any unlawful acts.<em>

It seemed rather uncharacteristic of him, in truth; for a man who ran his operations with an iron fist, this contract gave me an astounding amount of freedom. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought that Marcone was desperate.

Without warning, Spike's mangled features drifted through my thoughts, and my stomach roiled. In Marcone's position, I'd be desperate too.

"Fire all your hit-men and I'll consider it," I quipped, dropping the contract on the table. After a moment of silence during which Marcone stared at me, I realized he was considering my offer.

Before I could disabuse him of my sincerity, he spoke up. "Very well. I'll even do my best to discourage outside competitors in the market." He gave me a cold smile. "As long as you remain in my employ, of course."

I stared back at him. His eyes held not a little amusement in them, but no deception. Of course, with Marcone, you'd never know until you felt the knife in your back, but not for something like this. Not when he wanted to hire me, use me – he knew I'd come down on him like a ton of enraged wizard if I found out that he'd lied to me.

Anger started to rise within me, but I squashed it. I'd given him the rope, and he'd hung me with it. I knew, of course, that it wouldn't be my fault if Marcone continued to employ hit-men, and if those hit-men killed people, it wouldn't be on my head. But now I had a choice to make, a choice that I'd never had before, and with that choice came some responsibility. Marcone knew me too well, far too well, and he had placed the burden for all those not-yet-victims on my shoulders.

I glanced down at the contract and knew that he had me. The drugs, the prostitution, the gambling – all of it was evil, and it was inevitable. But none of it was _wrong_ in the same way assassination was, they were all at least consensual, and Marcone didn't sell to kids. Now that I knew I could stop those deaths, there was no way I could not sign the contract. And... perhaps, just perhaps, I could use my position in Marcone's association to reduce the harm the rest of his business caused.

I picked it up again, ignoring the smirk Marcone didn't bother hiding, and went over the papers again, with more care and attention to detail. There wasn't much I'd missed the first time around; it wasn't a long document, and Marcone seemed to want to make my life as easy as possible while still retaining my services.

Flipping back to the first page, where my a blank line awaited my hourly wage, I grabbed a pen. The figure I wrote in made Marcone blink once, and I hid my satisfaction at surprising him. It was high, true, enough for me to survive on a minimal case load even if I only worked the minimum five hours a month for Marcone. But it was no more than a senior partner at the local law firm made, and my true cost to Marcone would come in lost revenue from dropping his hit-men. Not that he wouldn't find some way to twist it to his benefit, of course.

Standing up, Marcone handed the folder containing my new chains to Hendricks. "I can provide you nothing in writing pertaining to our secondary agreement, but I know that you have your own sources of information. And you have my good word, of course." He didn't offer me his hand. He must have known that I wouldn't have taken it. Looking around my office, Marcone frowned. "I would much prefer to do business in more secure surroundings. If you are amenable, Mr. Dresden...?"

"Fine," I replied, opening the door. Marcone exited first, with Hendricks right behind him. I had a feeling that the big man didn't trust me nearly as far as he could throw me.

Marcone's car and driver were waiting outside to take us to his base of operations. The ride passed in silence, and I tried not to relax in the comfortable interior of the car, but decided that not blowing out the engine would be wiser than not showing Marcone how much I enjoyed his car. Which, I told myself, was only a little. And only because of the heated seats.

Some inestimable time later, the car stopped and I stepped out into a jungle of glass and steel, the business district of Chicago. The building we were parked in front of us had nothing to distinguish it from the others, but I knew that even if he wasn't using all the space, Marcone almost certainly owned the entire building. And the ones surrounding it, too.

Hendricks opened the door for us this time, and I walked in before Marcone did. The receptionist frowned, then saw the bastard walk in after me and switched to a mask of polite professionalism so fast I was surprised that she didn't strain a muscle.

We walked past her without a word and the soulless gray steel and beige carpeting turned into a white-washed corridor. The first room on the right turned out to Marcone's office, or at least one of his offices.

"Would you care for a drink, Mr. Dresden?" Marcone offered. "I rather feel like celebrating."

I caught my reflexive refusal and thought about it. He was so sure that I would decline as a matter of course, the smug expression made that clear. Wouldn't do to be too predictable, I decided. "Sure."

Hendricks placed two shot glasses on the table and topped them up with what looked like very expensive bourbon. I took the one on my left and knocked it back. Just because I was going to take his drink didn't mean I was going to _appreciate_ it.

"To business, then," said Marcone, savoring his own drink. "I have information that one Harley MacFinn may be responsible for the recent deaths. And that he is something from your side of the fence, so to speak."

"Who is he?" I asked, taking out a notepad and scratching his name on it.

Marcone frowned. "MacFinn is a... philanthropist. He runs the Northwest Passage Project, a program dedicated to buying up large quantities of land and setting it aside as wildlife reserves. I was looking at buying some of that land instead, and one of my business partners was one of those killed."

Something about the whole situation smelled off. If Marcone admitted that MacFinn was a philanthropist, then he was. And while environmental extremists existed, I had no doubt Marcone would both know about it and bring it up. "Where did you get this information? And how do you know it has something to do with magic?"

Marcone gave me a bland look. "Come now, Mr. Dresden. You can't expect me to reveal all my sources of information to you."

I shook my head in irritation. "Magical sources are rarely trustworthy, who they are and the exact wording both matter. And if you have a source like that, what did you need to hire me for?"

Marcone took another sip of his drink, considering my words for a moment. "My source for this information is the FBI team assigned to the case, actually. I am not privy to how they came across the information."

I stopped writing and looked up. Marcone's informant was Denton and his pack of goons? The man hadn't struck me as the type to believe in the supernatural – he had told me in so many words that he thought I was a fraud. "Is the lead agent named Denton?"

If Marcone was surprised that I knew the name, he didn't show it. "Yes, it is. May I ask how you know of him?"

I considered refusing for a moment, but it would be easy for Marcone to find out regardless. "I ran into him and his team when Murphy was showing me the crime scene. He thought I was a charlatan. Why would he...?" I trailed off.

Marcone frowned, picking up my train of thought. "Why would he, indeed? And do you see, Mr. Dresden? Our partnership has already revealed to us a new mystery."

I grunted in response, ignoring his evident pleasure at the thought. "I'll give MacFinn a call. Hold off on talking to Denton – if he's involved on my side of things somehow, I don't want to warn him that we've been talking."

"I am not half the fool you believe me to be, Mr. Dresden," Marcone remarked.

"Never said you were stupid, John," I shot back, standing up. "Just evil."

* * *

><p>Marcone's henchman gave me a ride back to my apartment instead of my office. I wouldn't be taking on any more cases today. After feeding Mister, I fished out my notebook and walked over to the phone. Dialing the number I had written down, I pondered the knowledge that Bob had given to me. The most reasonable explanation for this mess was a loup-garou, given the monthly timing of the killings, and that didn't bode well for me. I had one article of inherited silver, the pentacle amulet my mother had passed onto me, and it wasn't well-suited to be used as a weapon.<p>

"MacFinn," said a voice from the phone. "Who's this?"

I jerked, startled out of my thoughts. "This is Harry Dresden, and I'm calling about - "

"Oh, Mr. Dresden! Thank you for calling! Kim said that you'd refused to help, and I'm glad you changed your mind..."

My train of thought lurched, stumbled, and crashed. "Kim? Kim Delaney? How do you know... wait, what do you need a circle like that for?" As soon as the words left my mouth, the pieces clicked. "You have a loup-garou holed up somewhere?"

"_Mr. Dresden_," MacFinn hissed in panic. "This is not a matter to be spoken of over the phone. Would you mind meeting in person? My address is - "

"I have it, yeah," I interrupted. "I'll be there in thirty minutes."

I heard a crackling sigh. "Thank you. I'll see you then."

So, it seemed like MacFinn was somehow responsible for a loup-garou, and had enlisted Kim into helping him contain it. In fact, the Northwest Passage Project seemed like the exact sort of thing that Kim volunteered for. The situation gelled with the FBI warning Marcone, but from the information I had it didn't seem like MacFinn was trying to use the loup-garou as a weapon – no, he was trying to contain it. That left the question of why Denton had brushed me off, but it could wait.

Flipping open the trap door, I stumbled into my lab. "Bob!" I yelled. Then I remembered with some panic that I had sent him out to gather information for me. "Crap, crap, crap..." Muttering under my breath, I started shoveling various bottles and containers into a bag, trying to remember what the circles and signs drawn on Kim's paper had looked like. I might have been able to pull this off with Bob's help, but improvising this was just a step short of suicide. On the other hand, Kim didn't stand a chance of pulling it off by herself, and there was a possibility that I could slow the loup-garou down if I failed in containing it. I couldn't stand back and watch the slaughter if I didn't try.

Giving the empty skull a considering look, I tossed it into the bag after everything else. It might be possible – just barely possible – to pull Bob back into the skull. It was his home, and given that he was an incorporeal entity, would provide the strongest possible thaumaturgical link I could think of. He wouldn't even have to travel through sunlight – I could configure the spell to drag him through the Nevernever instead. It would be complicated, just on the edge of my abilities, especially with the limited time I had, but it would improve my odds of recreating the circles.

Running out of my apartment, I jumped into the Blue Beetle and took off. I pushed it as hard as I dared, and, miracle of all miracles, I made it to MacFinn's house in under twenty minutes.

Not sparing a glance for my surroundings, I ran up to the door and knocked as hard as I could while still maintaining the veneer of politeness. A brief moment later, the door opened to the expectant face of a man as tall as I was, but twice as large. "Mr. Dresden?"

I nodded. "Where is he?"

MacFinn gave me a baffled glance before understanding crossed his features. "Mr. Dresden... I am the loup-garou. What did Kim tell you?"

I stared at him for a moment before shaking my head. Take it in stride, Harry. "Nothing – she showed me the circles. M- somebody else clued me in to your condition, but they didn't actually tell me you were the loup-garou. I just assumed you were sheltering somebody. Now, if you don't mind, we don't have much time."

He nodded and stepped aside. "Come in, please."

The formal invitation allowed me to pass his threshold unmolested and I followed him down into a basement, beyond a heavy steel door, to find the ruins of the circles that had once contained him. Kim stood to the side, scratching on a notebook. She glanced up and her eyes widened. "Harry!"

I nodded but cut her off. "Later, Kim." Taking in the circles more carefully, I started picking apart the details. Rods of obsidian and steel shattered. Gems uprooted. Sigils and runes defaced. Despite the widespread destruction, some small measure of hope returned to me. My mind chugged along, made decisions, and I started giving orders. "Right. First things first, do you have the original schematics for this anywhere?" MacFinn nodded, and I continued. "Get them down here. I need to make a phone call."

MacFinn led me upstairs to a phone and went to fetch the blueprints. I pulled out a card I had palmed from Marcone's desk and punched in the number. "Hello, this is Executive Priority," a chipper voice greeted me. "How many I help you?"

"Harry Dresden for Marcone," I replied briskly. "It's urgent."

"One moment, please," the receptionist said.

I settled for tapping my foot while I waited, instead of trying to crush the phone in my hand. Some interminable time later, Marcone's voice answered. "Mr. Dresden, what a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?"

I didn't bother with the pleasantries. "I need five pounds of silver and five- no, say, ten pounds of obsidian at MacFinn's house as soon as possible. Within an hour, if you can. The obsidian should be solid, if possible."

There was a slight pause before Marcone replied. "I see. If I may ask, what is the urgency?"

"The full moon is in three hours," I bit off. "I need two to prepare. Hurry up." I slammed the phone down and stormed back into the basement.

Rooting around in my bag, I pulled out Bob's skull and set it on the ground. Taking a bit of chalk, I drew one circle around it and another to contain myself as well as the first circle. I grabbed a knife from my bag and made a small incision in my palm. The blood pooled and I let it drip in a rough line from one circle to the next. I smeared it with a finger so that it was an unbroken line and looked up to see Kim watching me in fascination. I gave her a dry smile. "If we survive this, I promise I'll teach you what I'm doing."

Ignoring the panic that was threatening to rise, I closed my eyes and lay a hand on Bob's skull. I felt the magic that made it a safe-house for the spirit, but more importantly, I felt the remnants of Bob's energy. Drawing it from the skull into myself, I formed my spell, created my hook, and cast it out. "_Argentus, argentii, argentuum._" The spell shot out of me, quicksilver and bright, and I relaxed. The first part had worked – now it just needed to bring Bob back. A second later, the bit of the spell tethered to me gave a weak tug and I tensed. Placing a finger on the outer circle, I gathered a small bit of power. As soon as I felt the spell snap back, I pushed it into the circle and felt the outer barrier snap up. The magic traveled unimpeded through the line my blood made and slung Bob into the inner circle, forming a barrier around that as well.

I opened my eyes to find a cloud of sparkling orange lights sinking into the skull. The eye sockets light up and the skull clacked its teeth together. "What the hell was that, Harry?"

"No time, Bob," I cut him off. "We've got just over two hours to build a circle to contain a loup-garou. The materials should be here soon, but I could still use your help."

Bob swiveled around to look at the broken circles. "Hmm... tough, but not impossible. The inner circle's going to be the hardest one, of course. Do you have the original design?"

"Yeah, I do." Standing up and breaking the outer circle, I grabbed the blueprints from where they lay on the ground and brought them over to Bob.

"Well," the skull said after examining them for a moment, "as I see it, your biggest problem is the broken rods."

I sighed and ground the heel of my palm into my face. "Yeah, I was going to ask you about that, actually. I got a... supplier to bring me five pounds of silver and a ten-pound chunk of obsidian, but I don't feel up to spellcrafting something to reshape them properly. Any ideas?"

"Given the time you have? Spellcrafting is probably your best bet," Bob shot back. "It's not like you're going to be able to carve them yourself." His voice cheered. "Besides, Harry, think of what that sort of spell would do to a human body!"

I shuddered at the implications. "Dammit, Bob, that's not helping. Anyways, what do you suggest?"

"The silver's going to be easy," Bob replied. "You can make the spell either heat or force based and imposing a form on the substance is going to be simple either way. Obsidian, on the other hand..." The skull went silent for a moment, thinking. "Direct separation of material is difficult, but it's also least likely to give you problems. You don't want to accidentally crack the entire block of stone, after all."

I nodded in agreement. "Yeah, well – oh, that's probably them." The doorbell rang and I bounded upstairs. Opening the door, I saw a heavy-set deliveryman holding a couple of boxes with one arm and a clipboard with the other. "Delivery for Harry Dresden?"

"That's me," I said, and reached out to take the boxes. He dropped them in my outstretched arms and I grunted at the weight. They seemed to weigh a lot more than fifteen pounds.

"Careful, they're heavy," the deliveryman warned.

"No, you think?" I wheezed out. Shutting the door with a nudge of my foot, I waddled downstairs and lowered the boxes to the floor. Opening the first one, I stared at the layered silver bars nestled within. That was a lot more than five pounds of silver, I thought, and then I remembered who I was working for. Marcone no doubt did not trust my estimates, but this was overkill. Opening the second box, I wondered how I was supposed to take out a single block of obsidian weighing perhaps fifty pounds before I remembered that the box was made of cardboard. Without delay, I stripped off the container and pushed the cardboard to the side.

Well. I could work with this. "Alright, Bob. Let's do it."

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><p>I examined the circles and wiped a faint sheen of sweat off my brow. The silver had turned out to be harder to deal with than the obsidian, contrary to my expectations. Looking back, it should have been obvious. The obsidian required a separation of elements – precise, to be sure, but simple once visualized. The silver, on the other hand, required <em>combining<em> multiple pieces into one and then reshaping that as well. But with Bob's coaching, I managed to do it with little trouble. Just in time, too; repainting the runes and implanting the bars had taken longer than I expected.

In any case, the circles were as ready as I could make them. MacFinn stood to the side. After a moment, he nodded. "It seems accurate."

"Good," I replied. "But before I empower the circles, I need a sample of your blood and hair."

He shot me a sharp glance. "For?"

I turned away from him. "Just in case." Not that I'd be able to kill him, according to Bob, but I could slow him down.

His look turned considering. "Your word, Mr. Dresden, that you will not use it in any other circumstances."

"Of course," I replied. "You have my word that I will only use your blood or hair in the circumstance that you escape the circles as a loup-garou."

"Good enough," MacFinn said, and picked up a cup. I handed him a knife and he made a small incision in his palm, letting the blood drip into the cup. Cutting off a lock of hair, he placed it on the table with my bloodied knife. "The full moon is in ten minutes."

He walked over to the circles and stepped inside, taking care not to disturb anything.

I sat down cross-legged in front of the circles and reached out with my magic. Ignoring the terrible violence and rage permeating the air, I felt out the shape of the containment, and _pushed_, flicking a drop of my blood at the inner circle. I repeated the steps for each circle, felt each barrier snap up, and relaxed.

It seemed to have worked, but I'd only know when the moon rose in a few minutes. "Kim," I said. "Maybe you'd better go." I didn't want anybody else to be around if this failed.

She shook her head and crouched down next to me. "I trust you," she whispered. "And I'm responsible for getting you involved in this mess."

I opened my mouth to contradict her, but decided it wouldn't help anything to tell her of Marcone. I didn't need to help him by spreading further rumors of my employment.

Without warning, MacFinn tensed and I felt a shift in the air, power gathering from within the circles. The transformation, when it came, was almost anticlimactic. One second MacFinn was there, a gigantic wolf-shaped thing the next. It snarled and snapped at the barrier surrounding it, but didn't seem capable of escaping. Kim slumped onto my side in relief and I let out a deep breath.

It had only taken about five hours, but damned if it wasn't one of the scariest things I'd ever done. Suddenly, I felt a lot less guilty about taking Marcone's money.


	2. Scent of Victory

**Disclaimer: **I don't own The Dresden Files.

**A/N:** Finished this chapter over the last two weeks, was pretty fun to write. Not sure what I'll focus on next, yet, but I hope to have something out by the end of next week. As always, read, review, and enjoy!

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><p>"That really is rather disconcerting. What did you say it was called again? A veil?" Marcone asked, looking in my general direction.<p>

I slouched against the side of the bookcase. "Yeah. And now, if you don't mind, kindly stop talking. I'm can't hear myself think." That wasn't true, strictly speaking, but it was the only excuse I was going to give to Marcone. I wasn't very good with veils, and despite my lengthy preparation, I still wasn't sure I could hold it while splitting my attention. Not that I was going to let Marcone know my weaknesses.

He sighed and turned to face the doorway. "I regret not putting in a clause about rudeness in your contract, but I don't think it would do any good."

"Damn right it wouldn't," I muttered, but the intercom buzzed and Marcone held a hand up for silence.

"FBI Agent Denton here to see you, Mr. Marcone," came the receptionist's voice.

"Let him through, Julia," Marcone replied.

"Right away, sir." I focused and began to Listen. A minute later, a single set of footsteps sounded down the hall and I relaxed. If something went sour, we'd only have to deal with one agent. One gun I could handle – I wasn't so sure about four, especially in such a small office.

The footsteps stopped and the door swung open. Denton walked in, eyes scanning the office, sliding right over my hiding spot without a second look.

"What do you want, Marcone?" Denton asked, distaste plain in his voice.

"Have a seat, please." Marcone's reply was nothing if not courteous, and I wondered about feeling insulted that he didn't extend that same courtesy to me.

Denton drew out the chair and sat down. "Well? Have you taken care of the problem?"

"Indeed," Marcone replied, leaning forward with a slight smile. "I really must thank you for the information. Without it, I doubt I would have tracked down MacFinn before he reached me as well..."

Marcone kept talking, but my focus was on Denton alone, and his eyes seemed to be wandering around the room. He didn't seem to be paying attention to Marcone anymore, who either didn't notice or decided not to say anything.

I sniffed, noticing a growing rank stench of wildness, and the hair on the back of my arms stood up. Denton's eyes drifted back to Marcone, and his arm slipped under the table. His body tensed, and I shouted a warning, but Marcone was already moving, jumping off his chair and out of the way of the wolf that Denton had turned into.

I jabbed my staff forward. "_Forzare!_"

A blast of concussive force lanced out toward the massive wolf and knocked it off the table, sending it tumbling into the opposite wall. Marcone stood on the opposite side of the table, and I noticed my veil had fallen as he glanced toward me. "Can you pin him to the ground, Dresden? I don't want have to kill him right now." He had produced a handgun out of nowhere and held it pointed steady at the wolf, which was getting to its feet, still dazed from the blast.

For a split-second I admired Marcone's ability to remain calm during combat, then nodded and drew my will inward. The wolf lurched forward, but before it could take two steps I pointed my staff at it and released the spell. "_Gravitas_."

The wolf slammed down onto the ground with a muffled crunch and a piteous whine emerged from its throat, but I held the spell going. Earth magic wasn't my forte, and keeping the spell active would drain me, but we couldn't exactly chain the wolf to the wall.

Marcone strode forward, avoiding the wolf's jaws, and began to run his hands through its pelt. "Would you say, Mr. Dresden, that such a transformation is common among wizards?"

I frowned as I considered the question. "It's possible, but that's about all I know on the subject. I didn't sense him casting a spell, though, and I didn't think he had any magical talent to begin with. I did smell something right before he transformed..."

I trailed off as Marcone stopped his inspection, and raised his head to look at me. "There's a belt with a buckle here. Could such an item cause the transformation? Your report to the police mentioned something about _Hexenwulf_, I believe?"

I nodded, remembering what Bob had told me. "That's right. But that means somebody else made it and gave it to him." Then I remembered our first confrontation. "Agent Benn has one too, I think. And probably the rest of his team, if I had to take a guess. It looks like they were trying to set MacFinn up and take you out at the same time."

Marcone grunted in agreement, then turned back to the incapacitated wolf. "If I remove the belt and it reverses the transformation, will you be able to restrain him?"

"Yeah," I replied. "It's not something I would have been able to do while he was transformed."

Marcone shook his head. "Obviously."

I flushed and ignored him. Marcone dug his hands under the wolf, and with a quiet click, it transformed back into Denton. He started struggling, no longer under the effects of my spell, but stilled when Marcone placed the gun to his temple. "If you cooperate, you may yet live."

I strode forward, and swung my staff at Denton's head. It struck with a thump and Denton relaxed to the ground, unconscious. Marcone stood up, brushing himself off. "That's your method of restraining him?"

I shrugged. "Yeah. What, did you expect a spell to manacle him, or something?"

Marcone gave me an inscrutable glance. "Something like that."

"I'm not that kind of boy, John," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Be serious, Mr. Dresden," Marcone replied.

"Whatever," I responded, rolling my eyes. "Magic isn't the answer to everything."

"Is that why you carry a handgun with you as well?" Marcone probed.

I crossed my arms. So what if I did? "It's effective."

He shook his head. "Don't be defensive, it's unbecoming. Besides, I approve of the sentiment. We'll have to get you a license."

I snorted, but said nothing. Things like this would be part and parcel of working for the mob, I suspected, though I couldn't say that I'd rather go about _without_ a permit than with one.

Marcone fished a pair of handcuffs out of his desk and snapped them onto Denton. Walking over the the intercom, he asked Julia to call for Hendricks.

We sat around in silence for a moment before the big man strode through the door. His eyes took in the scene with a quick professionalism. He frowned when he saw me, but to his credit said nothing.

"Bring our guest to one of our holding rooms, if you please," Marcone ordered. "You may go, Mr. Dresden."

I frowned at him, and he sighed. "Unless you wish to assist with the interrogation, of course."

Shaking my head, I walked out of the room. "Don't forget to clean up the leftovers, John."

=(.o0O0o.)=

"So," Bob said, his glittering eyes tracking me as I paced around the lab, "it sounds like you have a problem."

I sat down at my desk and slumped forward, pillowing my head in my arms. "No, really?"

"Sure!" Bob replied, voice chipper. Sometimes I wasn't sure if he actually understood sarcasm, or if he was just messing with me. "Not only do you have to figure out who gave them the belts, you also have to deal with the Streetwolves. Oh, and you still have to tell Murphy that you're working for Marcone."

I sent a sharp glance at Bob. "No, I don't. That's one thing Murphy doesn't need to know."

Bob cackled. "Who are you kidding, Harry? She's going to find out anyways. Better if you get to tell your side of the story first."

I sighed and ground my palm into my face. That level of insight into human relationships was unusual for Bob, but he was right. Of course she would find out, with or without me.

"One thing at a time," I muttered, and walked up the stairs.

Ten minutes later, it felt like I was ramming my head into a brick wall. Repeatedly. "I don't like it either, Murph. But what would you have done in my situation?"

Murphy's sigh came across as crackling through the speaker. "I would have arrested him for trespassing, Harry."

"Hilarious," I groused, but good-naturedly. We wouldn't be able to use each other as professional contacts anymore, but I knew I hadn't lost her as a friend. "Well, anyways-"

My goodbye was interrupted by gunfire from outside. "Harry? What's going on out there?"

"I'm going to go check it out," I told her, then hung up. She would be angry at me, I knew that, but she wouldn't arrive in time to help in any case.

I grabbed my staff from the wall and pressed my ear to the door. Muffled shouting and snarling – but no gunfire.

Easing the door open, I took in the grisly sight painting the corridor. Blood and gore spattered the floor and lower-walls, while four suited men stood in a loose half-circle surrounding two of the lycanthropes I had met earlier in the week. One was crouched over the other, both wounded but recovering.

"Dammit," I hissed. I hadn't forgotten about the lycanthropes, exactly, but I realized that I had given no serious thought to how I would deal with them. And now that the time had come, the only reason they hadn't blindsided me was because Marcone had his henchmen acting as bodyguards. I looked at one of them. "Call your boss and tell him to get down here."

"Already done," the suit replied. I nodded and slipped back into my apartment, closing the door behind me. Grabbing my robe, I stepped down into my lab.

Tapping on the skull sitting on a shelf, I lit the candles in the room with a muttered spell. "Up, Bob. I need some advice."

The skull let out a yawn. "Really? I wouldn't have guessed."

Ignoring his sarcasm, I nodded. "I need a way to deal with a pack of lycanthropes without killing them."

Bob's eyes flared in interest. "You ran into a pack of lycanthropes?" Looking me up and down, he managed to express an air of doubt. "You look pretty healthy to me, Harry."

"I got away the first time. Apparently Marcone has his men shadowing me, and they caught two of the lycanthropes outside my apartment," I replied.

"What was that, Harry? Surely you didn't just credit Marcone with pulling your ass out of the fire?" Bob's glee was palpable.

"I'm sure I didn't," I muttered. Continuing in a louder voice, "Anyways! Ideas, Bob?"

The skull let out one last chortle before letting out a thoughtful sound. "Well... normally I'd just say the easiest way is to kill them all. Or have Marcone do it for you."

I pinned him with a flat stare and he clicked his teeth together. "Right, no killing. Well, an overwhelming show of force might stop them from going after you. But you'd have to take down the whole pack at the same time, not just two at a time."

"Great," I groaned, "just what I needed."

Twenty minutes later, Murphy was sitting on my couch and glaring at Marcone, who had appropriated my recliner. The suits had settled into the corners of the room, and I hadn't the heart to tell them that the lycanthropes weren't strong enough to breach my wards.

"You're not killing them, Marcone."

Marcone's pleasant expression never changed, but I could tell that Murphy's steadfast insistence was wearing him down. "Lt. Murphy-"

"No," I interrupted. "You aren't killing them."

Marcone's cool gaze slid over to me, but I refused to be intimidated. His status as my employer changed nothing, as far as I was concerned. "I'm telling you as the professional in this situation that it's neither necessary nor the safest way to do it."

I wasn't sure if that was accurate, but there was enough truth in my desire to keep things clean to pass the lie off undetected.

"And what do you suggest, Mr. Dresden? You cannot propose to simply let them go free," Marcone said. "They will try again, and again, and again, until they succeed."

I nodded, conceding the point. "True. But an overwhelming display of force will put me at the top of the hierarchy."

"What if they decide to challenge you again?" Murphy asked.

I shook my head. "That's what would happen if I challenged the leader and defeated him. But if I take them all down at the same time, then it places me outside the pack, sort of as a deity."

At this, Marcone interjected. "I was not aware that you are capable of such a feat, Mr. Dresden. Surely you would not be in this situation in the first place if you were?"

I stared him straight in the eye. "There's not much I'm not capable of, John, properly prepared."

=(.o0O0o.)=

"Are you sure this is safe, Bob?" I asked, glancing at the skull perched on the shelf.

"Of course!" replied Bob, excitement shining through his tone. "Well, pretty sure anyways. Come on, Harry. What's life without a little risk?"

"Well," I responded, ignoring his wheedling, "if nothing else at least it's safe."

I stepped back, eyeing the modified wolf belt with no small measure of trepidation. Despite my concerns, it _should_ have been safe. Bob was unlikely to mess up the theory, and he'd spot any mistakes I made in the modifications.

I still wasn't sure this was the best way to take care of things, but there was no way I could take on a pack of lycanthropes and hope to subdue them with magic while leaving them alive. And, more importantly, keeping myself alive in the process.

Taking the wolf belt, I slipped it around my waist and buckled it. Ignoring the magic quivering against my skin, I turned to the skull. "If I'm not back by sunset, Bob, you have my permission to leave your confinement to tell Murphy what happened. Then return immediately."

Bob acknowledged my orders, his eyelights dimming slightly. "Good luck, Harry."

Stepping out of my apartment, I saw two of Marcone's men waiting for me. I nodded to them as I passed. "Give your boss my thanks for the belt." Not that it had been difficult to convince Marcone to hand over one belt and destroy the rest; after all, I was his magical consultant now.

Squeezing into my car, I thought about how the belt I was wearing came to be. The experimentation had been interesting, stretching my mind and magic in a way that I had not been able to anywhere near often enough lately. Working for Marcone would have its upsides, it seemed.

Swerving into an empty spot on the side of the road, I parked the car and stepped outside, avoiding the broken glass littering the ground. I couldn't remember much of the ride there, having sunk deep into contemplation.

Walking up to the building that was home to my adversaries, I knocked on the door and took a deep breath. Parker opened the door, and his eyes widened as he saw who had knocked. "You!" he snarled, body tensing.

Before he could do more than twitch, I touched the belt buckle and unleashed the magic restraining the spirit inside. Time slowed for a fraction of a second, and suddenly I was trapped in my head.

The changes I had made to the belts were extensive, but the most obvious difference was the lack of a transformation. I had no desire to be turned into a wolf, it would be too easy to slip and tear out somebody's throat. The other important difference was that the spirit wrapped around me was now subjugated to my will, instead of being free to influence me. Its purpose was no longer to protect me from the transformation, but to grant me greater strength, speed, and physical durability, turning me into a more controlled form of the lycanthropes that I was facing.

_Take them down,_ I whispered to the spirit.

My body blurred forward, knocking Parker into the ground, and the rest of the pack scattered. It became a game of cat and mouse, my mind directing the spirit to take out the lycanthropes one by one.

Bodies slammed onto the ground, into walls, over crates. Bones shattered, regrowing only to be broken again. Blood flew, and all the while I looked out from my head, directing my body like a conductor leading an orchestra.

Three of them tried to jump me all at once, and my body slid under them, knocking their feet together and sending them into a tangled pile.

Enough was enough, I decided. I couldn't feel any pain now but I was sure that I would be feeling this later, and the fight had gone on long enough for me to make my point.

Wresting control of my hands and mouth from the spirit, I gathered my calm, ignoring the restless magic in the air. Steel-solid will formed a spell, and I flicked my wrists at the half-circle of bruised enemies surrounding me. "_Gravitas, gravitas augetur_."

A sudden weight slammed down on me, but the spirit had been prepared and bore it with nothing but a snarl in my mind. The lycanthropes had not been so lucky, nor did they have any particular resistance to magic, and they fell to the ground, pinned by their own weight.

"You are mine," I said, letting the spirit project the aggression through my posture. "You actually thought you could take me down?"

I felt a little sick at the blatant power-play I was performing, but needs must. "Parker," I said, and looked down at the pack-leader, still struggling against my spell. "Pledge yourselves to me."

He let out a wordless snarl, and kept trying to raise himself off the ground. I redoubled on the force of the spell. The spirit muttered, unhappy about the extra load that the magic placed on me, but I ignored it. Some of the lycanthropes littering the ground let out soft whines, the stress of the added weight beginning to pain them. I ignored those, too. "Do it, Parker."

"Fine," he gasped out. "We are – yours."

The ambient magic in the room shifted, centering itself on me. It rushed through my blood, and the spirit snarled in excitement. Taking this cue as my victory, I forced it back into its belt and released my spell.

My body sagged, and I forced myself to keep my feet. I ached everywhere, and for a fleeting moment wished for a hot shower. Tearing my mind back to the task at hand, I looked around the room, watching the lycanthropes stand up.

"Wizard," Parker rumbled, and I turned my attention to him. "What do you want from us?"

I could feel his tension and resentment, and though the connection was not unexpected, the feeling was still disconcerting.

"Well," I began, not letting the exhaustion seep into my tone, "so far all you've been doing is trying to survive. And as admirable as that is, I have rather higher expectations for those gifted with power."

Parker let out a dusty laugh. "Gifted, you say?"

_Cursed, cursed, cursed..._ I frowned, feeling the thought flit about the room. It was true to a point, I supposed, but as difficult to control the bestial rage that lived within them was, it was still possible. Magic could twist and warp its owner, too, but only if one let it.

I put my foot down. "You'll be making something of yourselves now," I ordered. "No more petty crime."

"What's that, Wizard?" Parker asked, voice weary. "We don't fit into polite society." A sneer of derision crossed his face.

"Don't worry," I responded, "I'll find something for you to do. In the meanwhile, I'll have somebody bring some supplies. Don't attack them if you know what's good for you."

"Fine," he said, resigned.

I walked out of the building, head held high, only to see Marcone's men detach themselves from the windows and stare at me. There was no small measure of awe on their faces, and I hid a grin. Let them carry that story back to Marcone. Maybe he'd take me more seriously.


End file.
